My Masseur
by Lovesy
Summary: A Chryed fic inspired by 'hot jealous Christian' from Gay Bar episode. Will Christian's insecurities get the better of him?
1. Chapter 1

**Well, here it is, my *ahem* hot jealous Christian fic, inspired by Gay Bar episode. There's not much smut in this chapter, but be patient and you may be rewarded!**

**I deliberated over using the term Masseuse, as I believe that's what Syed calls himself? But decided to go with Masseur simply because I thought it sounded hotter! /shallow**

**Big thanks to Clarkey for beta-ing duties! x**

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><p>I follow my client out of the gym and we walk together down Turpin Road, it's early evening and I'm glad to be on my way home, Craig is heading to the tube station to take the short journey back to his place.<p>

"Y'know, I think I'm working you too hard, I'm going to have to tone down your fitness plan, you're going to be putting me to shame soon." I say good-naturedly, glancing sideways at Craig as we saunter along.

"The harder the better baby! It takes effort to have a body this perfect!" Craig boasts, and flexes a bicep at me.

Craig had a good body, I'd give him that, he was muscular, and had obviously been working out for a long time before I'd become his personal trainer a few weeks ago. He had an attractive face too, in a bland, stereotypical kind of way. He was also gay and the Christian of 20 years ago would have jumped him, gobbled him up and spat him out in the blink of an eye.

But that was then. Now he rather annoyed me. He was a charmer yes, fun, easy to chat to, had all the right lines and all the right moves. But it was all false flattery, underneath I felt he was only interested in his own needs and what other people could do for _him_. I quash a brief uncomfortable thought that I was actually looking at a version of my younger self.

"Hey you!"

A voice as familiar to me as my own breaks my reverie, I look up and I'm rewarded with dark, twinkling eyes and a beaming flash of white teeth against tanned skin, heading in our direction.

"Is that him?" Craig nudges my arm, and then speaks quietly in my ear, "Why didn't you tell me he was so hot?"

I prickle and shoot him a 'look'. Part of me feels a surge of pleasure and pride that someone has recognised the undeniable hotness of my fiancé, but another part is slightly unnerved, and it is that part that seems to win over.

Syed walks over to us, he is wearing his white masseur jacket, having just finished work himself.

"Hey Babe." I greet him and plant a quick kiss on his cheek.

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" Craig interrupts.

"Craig, this is Syed, my fiance I told you about." I say, a little reservedly.

"Nice to meet you Syed." Craig steps towards Syed and extends a hand, which Syed takes and gives him a friendly smile in return.

I find my gaze drawn to their joined hands, the hold seems to go on a little longer than I deem necessary. I look up at the sound of Craig's loud voice, I am finding him more and more annoying by the minute.

"You're a massage therapist, right?" Craig flashes another smile at Syed and indicates to his jacket with his eyes. I feel a tightness in my chest as I watch Craig's gaze hover over Syed's torso. Syed seems oblivious. Or is it me? Am I reading too much into it? Seeing things that aren't there?

"Yeah, I am." Syed replies, a half smile lingering on his lips, "Didn't Christian tell you?" he gives me a quick puzzled look.

Syed and I usually plugged each other's line of business as they were so complimentary, and it was a way of helping to build up each other's clientele. Yet, somehow this time, I had conveniently forgotten to pass on Syed's card. Well, I'd only be training Craig a few weeks, there hadn't been a lot of time, I was sure I would have remembered at some point… eventually.

I move towards Syed and put a possessive arm around his shoulders. "He's the best in the business." I say. "His technique is _amazing_… I should know." I add, winking sideways at Syed, then I look straight at Craig sternly. I don't really know what I'm hoping to achieve, I feel like I am staking my claim on Syed, trying to subtly warn Craig off. Stupid. I'm being stupid. As if Syed would ever want anyone else, I know he wants me, I know he loves me, beyond what I'd imagined a human being was even capable of. I knew because the feeling was mutual.

Syed rolls his eyes in my direction at the blatant innuendo.

"A personal recommendation, great!" Craig looks at me, his smug grin stretching from ear to ear, then he turns back to Syed. "I've been thinking about seeing a masseur for a while now, all the extra work outs I do, it sometimes leaves me a bit sore, a bit stiff, y'know? I think I need expert hands on me."

What the fuck? Craig had glanced back to me as he said it, his face still all smiles, trying to maintain an air of innocent casualness, but I could see the look in his eyes, the goading. Couldn't I? Or was I imagining it? I glower back at him.

Syed shrugs away from my arm and reaches inside his jacket, pulling out a business card, either he hadn't seen any hidden meaning or he chose to ignore it. He hands the card to Craig and smiles genuinely. "Well, if you're ever in need, give me a call and make an appointment. I'm based at Booty's… just over there." He turns and points towards the salon, he seemed happy and a little bit proud of himself, at the possibility of adding to his growing number of clients. I feel a stab of guilt for not feeling it with him, for probably being a total arse, and an unjustified one at that. But I can't seem to shift the dark cloud that had descended over me.

Craig locks eyes with Syed. A simple acknowledgement, or something more? "I might just do that Sy." he says.

I balk again, this time at Craig's use of _my_ name for Syed. I _had_ used it in conversation with Craig though, I know, I was probably reading too much into it, but I still didn't like it, not one measly bit.

"Right, I better dash and get that tube!" Craig says brightly "See you next week Christian!" Craig glances in my direction when I don't respond, and I reluctantly grunt an inaudible reply.

I don't see it, but I can almost feel Syed's look of chastisement for my rudeness, in so called civilised company. In other circumstances, a kick to the shins might have accompanied it, I think wryly.

"It was nice to meet you Craig." I hear Syed say.

I look up just in time to see Craig place a hand on Syed's upper arm, "The pleasure was all mine." Craig purrs. My eyes narrow, suddenly all I can see is Craig's fingers stroking down Syed's arm. It is probably an infinitesimal amount of time, but to me, any amount of time would have been too long. I feel my body tense, but before I can react Craig removes his hand and waves, before turning and walking off towards the tube.

"He seems nice." Syed says as he turns to face me.

I stare at him moodily, and purse my lips.

"Christian?"

"Fancy him do you?" I blurt out, a little more harshly than I'd intended.

But Syed doesn't seem phased, instead he laughs and rolls his eyes again. "No..." he says quietly, drawing the syllable out.

Then he steps towards me, into my personal space, giving an ever so seductive wiggle of his shoulders as he does so, so close I can feel the heat of his body ignite the air between us. He peers up at me through heavy lashes, his voice low and flirty "But I'll tell you what I do fancy…"

"Oh yeah?" I breathe, the tension of a moment ago melts away, and is replaced by tension of an altogether different nature.

He stretches up towards me, his lips inches from mine, "Mmmm.." he hums, and the sound vibrates against my lips as he presses his mouth lightly against mine in a teasing kiss.

It was the barest of touches, yet the level of heat and longing it sends cursing through me is immeasurable. My hands twitch at my sides, every inch of my body aches to touch him, to be touched by him. It might have been the thought that someone else had touched him, the need to prove to myself, to prove to him that _I_ was what he needed, that might have had something to do with it, but ultimately it was him. It is always him. Syed. I have never craved something as emphatically as I crave him, every part of him, all of him, every day, every minute.

He starts to pull away, and it takes every strength in every nerve ending to stop myself grabbing him, crushing him against me and snogging his face off there and then. But some needs must wait, the act of delay, of dwelling on the thought and savouring the desire a torturous pleasure in itself. We were in a fairly busy public road after all, with several commercial buildings, familiar and unfamiliar faces coming and going. We didn't want to become the live street entertainment.

"So… what _do_ you fancy Sy?" I implore, my voice thick with lust. He looks back at me, all wide eyes and soft lips, dark hair curling onto the smooth skin of his forehead, begging to be stroked back. I lean over and whisper salaciously in his ear "You can have anything you want…"

He angles his head to look at me, a mischievous glint in his darkening eyes. "Anything?" he grins. I nod, and suddenly he had grabs my hand and is dragging me towards our flat, and I can't stop my own smile from stretching across my eager face.

But he doesn't stop at the blue door. No, that would have been too easy. Instead he comes to rest at the one next door, the one that leads to Beale's Plaice, not Christian and Syed's place. The smile drops from my face and I look at him questioningly.

"Fish and chips!" he declares, obviously pleased with himself. "I fancy fish and chips… I'm staaarving!"

I shake my head and give a small sigh of exasperation, but his smile is infectious. How could I not be happy when he was happy? Besides, we had all the time in the world, now. "C'mon then you," I groan and start to lead the way into the chippy. Then I feel his fingers grasp around mine and I pause to look back at him.

"If you're really good," he says quietly, his eyes shining with a mixture of love and playful fervour "I'll let you have dessert too."

I laugh and our eyes lock in a moment of shared knowledge, shared memories, shared emotions. I feel it hit me again, like it always did, often at the most random times, the most unromantic of settings, again and again, even after all this time. _How could he be so_… perfect. Not _perfect_ perfect, fuck no, that would be mind-numbingly boring. But, he was simply… _Sy,_ and he was perfect to me. God, I loved him.

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><p><em>A few days later…<em>

I look at my watch again. I can't seem to stop looking at it. _Don't be pathetic Christian_, I say to myself, and finish plumping and straightening the stripy cushions on the sofa. Syed would be home from work soon. I had finished early today, and spent the latter part of the afternoon doing mundane jobs of domesticity. To complete my image of the perfect house husband I decide to make a start on dinner, Syed would like that. Even if he'd had a shitty day at work it would put him in a good mood. I liked it when Syed was in a good mood, it kind of rubbed off on me, in more ways than one. I smirk to myself, letting licentious images of Syed occupy my bored mind, as I head to the kitchen.

I am rudely interrupted by the ringing of my phone in my pocket, but relax again when I see the name on the screen.

"Sy!" I say enthusiastically, "I was just thinking of you…" I could hear the monotonous drone of Poppy and Jodie in the background.

"Christian, I'm going to be late home, I've got an extra client, I tried to get him to make an appointment during normal hours, but he said it was urgent… and it's someone I've never done before, I didn't want to lose a potential regular."

I smile a little at Syed's unwitting turn of phrase, but can't hide the disappointment in my voice as I speak. "Oh babe, how late? I may have urgent needs of my own…" I sigh into the phone, "…and I'm cooking dinner!" I add.

"A couple of hours I'm afraid, Tanya's going to give me the keys so I can lock up. Anyway, it's that friend of yours that you recommended me too, you know, Craig, thanks for dinner, I'll heat it up when I get home."

The last part of his sentence barely registers, my mind had stopped at the word Craig.

"Christian?"

I frown and try to think of other words. "Right, ok, I'll see you when I see you then." I huff.

"I'm really sorry Christian, I'll make it up to you, I promise."

He was gone. I slip the phone back into my pocket and survey the kitchen. Suddenly I don't feel like cooking any more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for reviews and thanks to my beta Clarkey! x**

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><p>I reach for the box of leftover pizza and briefly consider shoving it forcibly into the bin, but instead I put it in the fridge, in case Syed is hungry when he gets home.<p>

Laying down on the sofa, I stretch myself out along its full length, taking up as much space as possible, I have a cold beer in one hand and sole possession of the remote in the other. I let out an exaggerated sigh as I sink into its softness, the kind of sigh you want to make obvious to someone else, but of course there is no one else here to hear it. I might as well make the most of being able to do what I want while I can, I think to myself, flicking through the TV channels for the programmes Syed hates.

Except this isn't what I want. I push the thought away, no, it's good having a bit of time to myself to relax in the evening, enjoy a cold beer in peace. I take a swig from the bottle as if to emphasize the fact, then look at my watch. Approximately 32 minutes until Syed will be home. Probably.

_Stop checking your bleedin' watch, Christian. Cool, really cool. What's wrong with you? Two hours, it was two pitiful hours, for fuck's sake, you've been without him a whole day, another 2 hours isn't going to kill you. _

I've been without him a lot longer than a day before, but I don't like to think about that, that's the past.

This is now. This is now and I want him here with me, sat on the sofa with me, telling me to go easy on the beer, groaning at my choice of TV show, nudging me painfully in the ribs and wrestling the remote control off me, delicately putting the last of the pizza into his mouth and teasingly licking the tomato sauce off his finger tips. I want him here. I am being childish, I know, petulant. What is the matter with me? He's working, like normal people do. Working, that's all. At the salon, massaging… _him._

Unwanted images flash unbridled in my mind. Syed's hands sliding over bare skin, his knuckles kneading into flesh and muscle. Syed leaning over an expanse of back, lowering himself down. Syed's lips parting, his mouth finding another mouth, tongue seeking tongue. The naked skin of Syed's chest pressing against the body below. A body that isn't mine.

Shit. I sit bolt upright on the sofa. He wouldn't, would he?

What the fuck am I thinking? This is Sy, of course he wouldn't, the idea is laughable. Except I'm not laughing. What is wrong me? I've never been this insecure before, well… not about something like this anyway. This is me, Christian Clarke, after all. I'm fine, I tell myself. Everything's fine. I just… I just… love him so much.

I take a deep breath, trying to clear the fog and the images from my mind, but it doesn't work. I can feel the tension in my shoulders spread through my body and a gnawing ache in my gut, that only seems to intensify as the seconds tick by. I look at my watch and wonder what Syed is doing at exactly this moment as I sit alone in our flat. Is he thinking of me, as I am thinking of him? Or is he distracted by other things? Another voice laughing with him, other eyes looking at him, somebody else's fingers touching him.

The images take over and all rational thought deserts me. I can't think or see anything else, only _them_. I can't stand it anymore. What am I doing sitting here like some pathetic, gullible lovesick idiot while they, they…. No! No-one is going to make a fool out of me! I stand up abruptly and make a grab for my keys before charging out the door, my face like thunder.

I can see a light on at Booty's as I approach. I am vaguely aware of a little voice in my head trying to speak, trying to be heard, but I'm not listening. There is something in me, something dark, something that has the power to control me and make me vulnerable. I know what it is. Fear. But I dare not admit it or dwell on its cause, so I let the anger build and bury it. Not a blazing rage that burns brightly and clearly before fizzling out, but a seething, brooding resentment and discord, a slow burning heat that seems to ooze out of my every pore.

I reach the salon door and a moment of doubt makes me pause. The little voice tells me I am being a prize idiot, what would Syed think of my behaviour? He'd be hurt, he'd expect me to trust him, I _do_ trust him. I was letting him down, my own stupid… No. I feel the blood rushing through my body, my nerve endings alight. I have to see it for myself, see _them_. Suddenly images of Syed fill my head again. Syed, his naked body hot and flushed, a fine layer of sweat making his skin glisten as he moves, muscles rippling and tensing with the strain, his eyes dark and languid, lips full and parted, a single breath escaping. I feel myself grow hard. Shit. What the fuck is the matter with me?

I take a deep breath and barge through the door, not caring how much noise I make. I want to make my presence felt. Or… maybe I want them to hear me come in because I don't want to walk in on them having…

"Christian!"

Syed is behind the counter, looking in the appointments diary… alone. He is alone. I glance quickly up the stairs towards his treatment room, is Craig still up there? Looking back at Syed I can't help but register his prim and pristine white masseur's jacket, buttoned up to his neck, his hair relatively smooth, at least for him, tendrils curling gently at his neck. So very far from the images I'd had in my head. He has that tired and dejected look of someone who has spent too long at work, but it is now coupled with a look of surprise.

"What are you doing here?" he says quizzically, adding "Are you alright? Has something happened?" when he notices my tense demeanour.

"Your… client?" I ask boldly, my voice low, my eyes not leaving his face.

"He left a little while ago, I was just clearing up and then I was gonna… " he stops mid sentence as he surveys my expression, his eyes lock onto mine. It seems only when I look into his eyes I am not blind. I've been an idiot, of course, he is mine, he has always been mine. The transparency of the reality of truth before me taunts my tender heart and mocks my over active mind, but it seems only to serve the passion and fuel the growing fire that is building within me.

Syed's eyes seem to glaze over as he looks at me, watches me, watching him. "Christian?" he says quietly, his voice but a breath.

I am suddenly acutely aware of my chest rising and falling, each gasp for air becoming deeper and heavier than the last. I want, no, _need_ to touch him. I have the urge to run my hands through that too tidy hair, to knot my fingers between the thick strands, to stroke, and twist, and tug as I pull his mouth to mine, leaving it a wild and untameable mess. I want to rip off that orderly and restraining jacket to reveal the other Syed that lay beneath. The Syed that is soft and sensual, tender and yielding, yet at the same time wilful and demanding, wild… carefree… wanton. The all too real Syed, his whole being a sensory avalanche that threatens to overwhelm me, yet has me begging for more. I crave him, I need him as I need the air in my lungs, the blood in my veins, I want him, I want him now.

"You haven't finished yet… " I say hoarsely, walking round the counter.

He looks up at me, his eyes seeming to widen the nearer I get to him, as if he is drinking me in, pulling me towards him. I can see it all over his face, the unexpected arrival but instant totality of lust and desire, startling him and yet freeing him at the same time, I can almost see it's trajectory as it travels through his body, making him tremble slightly as it takes him over to the point that it becomes him, my Sy.

I grab his hand and his breathing wavers at my touch, his lips part in anticipation.

"You've got one more client." I say hurriedly as I pull him towards the stairs.

"Wait!"

I feel the drag on my arm as he stops suddenly, and I turn around.

"Here?" he questions, eyebrows raised. That last flicker of restraint holding on.

"It's ok," I breathe reassuringly, "No one will know." A teasing smile curls the corners of my lips, "Sy… I'm aching so much it's getting painful. I'm in urgent need of a massage, you're a masseur aren't you?"

He bites his bottom lip and nods.

"You're _my _masseur, now show me your treatment room."

With that, any lingering doubt is forgotten, I can tell by the look on his face that he is as gone as I am. Hastily he takes a bundle of keys out of his pocket and rushes to lock the salon door. Turning back to me, he pushes past me and practically wrenches me up the stairs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you as always for the lovely reviews and to the wonderful betaing talents of Clarkeyfangirl (glad this one lived up to your expectations ;) )**

**For people wanting an actual massage there will be one soon, but in the mean time there are more *ahem* urgent matters that couldn't wait...**

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><p>We barely make it into the room, before he is shoving me up against the door that I'd just closed. He gasps as he pushes his body into mine, hands gripping my arms, I can feel him hard against me and as he looks up at me, I see my own unmitigated lust and need reflected in his eyes.<p>

I keep my eyes locked on his, we are both breathing heavily, our chests rapidly rising and falling in unison, our exhaled breaths mingling as our mouths draw nearer and nearer. I can feel the heat and hard muscle of his body pressed against mine, making every part of me he is touching come alive. My heart is pounding, every beat getting stronger and stronger for him, sending my blood coursing through me, driving it to my groin, the ache so desperate, so real, so intense, like the ache I feel in my heart every time he is not near.

We both pause, lost together in the tension, the anticipation. It seems to last forever, but it barely lasts a moment before I can stand it no longer. I crush his mouth with mine, my lips parting and widening, as I envelop his lips with my own, my tongue almost instantly pushing into the warm wetness of his mouth, kissing him passionately, urgently, like my very life depends on it. My hands slide over his back, pulling him tighter towards me, wanting to feel the familiar and tactile lines of shape and contour beneath his clothes.

One of his hands is on my hip and the other reaches up to cup my face, holding me as he pulls back slightly from our deep kiss to gasp for air. I feel my own lungs re-inflate as he rains sloppy, broken kisses on my lips and face, and I revel in the rampancy of uncontrollable passion. I tilt my head back slightly against the door, as he begins to kiss, lick and suck along the lines of my neck, his hands roaming over my chest before finding their way under my shirt to lavishly touch bare flesh.

The sensual contact of his hands abundant on my bare skin drives me wild and instinctively I find my hands in his hair, clinging on tightly near his scalp, while his lips find my pulse in the nape of my neck. My body takes over, my need so acute my mind cannot hold on. I let out a low moan as I feel myself falling, losing control and I involuntarily thrust my hips towards him, grinding myself into him, needing friction, needing _him_. Now.

"Sy…" I groan breathlessly, "I want you _now_, I can't…I can't wait." I look down and he gazes up at me licentiously, running a wet tongue over his swollen lips.

"Do you not..." he rasps, "…want a massage first then?"

"I want _you_." I reply thickly.

With his eyes fixed on mine he grabs my hand and pulls me further into the room. Upon realisation of where he is heading I stagger forward, taking him along with me, forcing my whole body against his and kissing him fiercely as we move. He is mine, and I need him. Mine, and I'm taking him. I need to be fucking him and I need to be doing it now.

Through my fog of lust I roughly manhandle Syed backwards towards the massage table. But it would appear that he has other ideas. Suddenly he grips my arms and uses the strength of his whole body against mine to spin us around, pushing me up against the end of the table. He is surprisingly strong, I see the strength in his face, in the set line of his jaw as he stares at me hungrily, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.

"Get up." he commands, almost matter of fact, in contrast to the free feelings of lust his body belies. My eyes are like saucers as I find myself perching on the end of the table, feeling the slide of white cotton upon the black leather beneath. My skin tingles with anticipation as he slides in between my legs, his hands are on my hips. "Christian…" he bends down to whisper against my neck, the soft touch of his lips all that is needed to set the sensitive skin there on fire. "You are so… so… hot tonight." he breaths through brushes of lips and flicks of tongue, then he pulls back to look at me thoughtfully for a moment.

But before he can say anything else, I reach across and start unbuttoning and ripping at the starched material of his jacket, pulling it off him with enthusiastic fervour, followed in haste by his black t-shirt underneath. My hands touch his bare flesh on instinct, exploring and possessing the smooth skin interspersed with rough textured hairs. It's not enough. I can't get enough of him, and immediately draw him towards me, sliding my arms around his back and wrapping my calves around his legs, as my mouth rushes to his chest, my tongue lapping at his warmth, needing to taste him. I nip at his skin, wanting to take him in, to devour him.

He shivers beneath my touch, and his quiet keens mingle with the heavy sounds of feverish breath. Then I feel the desperate push of his groin against mine, his hardness rubbing against mine. He wants me. He wants me so badly. The thought causes a warm self-satisfied glow to spread through me, the warmth of it sending me even further into the fiery grip of passion, as if I needed any more help or encouragement.

My lips leave his chest and instantly seek out his mouth, wanting that intimate connection, that sexual manifestation of heat and wet and tongue and flesh. His response is just as intense and our mouths lock together, our tongues raiding each other ferociously, as if this were the last final act of consumption. But of course it isn't. It never is. I can never have my fill, I always want more, more of _him_, more of _us_.

I need more, and so it would appear, does he. He breaks our kiss and we both gasp to take in the air our neglected lungs require. Without pause he reaches between us to undo my belt, while we continue to share broken, chaotic kisses, our tongues darting in and out. He quickly yanks down my jeans and underwear, as I raise myself up off the table to help him, then grabbing the material of my t-shirt in his fists he strips it off me and tosses it aside. Lastly he hastily struggles to remove his own jeans while my hindering hands stroke and knead his flesh and my continued urgent kisses unintentionally impede his efforts.

But finally he is done, and he is standing naked before me. He stops momentarily, holding my arms as he looks down upon me, his gaze unashamedly and unabashedly leaving a quivering trail over my sensitised skin, over my state of arousal, lingering slightly as it travels up over my chest and arms before settling on my face, which must be as plain to read as his own. My mouth deliriously seeks him out once more, but he somehow evades it.

"Christian?" he asks quietly, "Do you want _me_?"

"Yes… now… and always." I reply heartily, longingly, but I'm slightly perplexed by his tone.

He turns and moves to reach for a bottle on a near by shelf. Then the real meaning of what he is saying starts to dawn on me as he pours some kind of base oil into his hand. Then he reaches for himself.

Fuck. That is it. I am completely gone.

"Come here," I say desperately, "Let me help you with that…" I stand and grab at him, pulling him back towards me, before sitting down again and drawing him into me, between my thighs, into my embrace. I quickly guide his hand with my own and help to smooth the cool slippery liquid over him. At my touch he lets out a series of little gasps and moans, that seem to sing directly to my own cock, and it screams it's appreciation.

"Christian… need you now…" he gasps, and I feel slick fingers sliding beneath me, feeling their way. I reposition myself on the table, sliding and leaning back, bringing my heels up on to the edge, arching myself up, as I feel a finger pushing at my entrance.

"Fucking hell" I exclaim under my breath and push down eagerly as I feel his fingers inside me. His eyes are clouded and heavy as he watches my face, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth as his fingers start to move inside me, sliding in and out, pushing and stretching me as they move.

And oh my God, I can't stand it. It feels so unbelievably good, it is too much, yet it is not enough. I want him inside me. Now. All of him. I want him filling me up until he is part of me, I want him deep within me. I want him ramming into me over and over again. I want the heat and friction of his touch, making me come, making me scream out his name. I want to feel him inside me, feel him rubbing against me, all around me. Everywhere. Everything. He is everything to me.

I look at him. Look deep into those beautiful mesmerising eyes, and I can see everything. As he withdraws his fingers and guides himself towards me, aligning himself and pushing gently but firmly forward, I can see everything I need to know in his eyes. Pure and unadulterated want, desire, need, love, care, understanding, acceptance, tenderness, all consuming and all empowering, and all for me. For what we have is unique to us, our own private exclusive club of lust and love.

I slide back down the table, wrapping my legs around him, oblivious to the movements of the sheet creasing and wrinkling beneath me. The only movement I am aware of the agonising pleasure of the feel of him pushing inside me as I impatiently ease myself further down, my heels digging into him from behind as I urge him forward.

I give a guttural moan as he, finally, completes me. But he is still, biting his bottom lip, his face contorted with concentration and the act of trying to control himself, to give me time, to make it good.

"Sy!" It's all I can do to spit out the words, "Just go for it!" I don't care. I want it. I want it all. It's already gone far past the stages of being good. It is fucking mind-blowing bloody fantastic and I want it all, but it has to be now, I can't…

He releases his lip and gasps, with it relinquishing any extraneous attempts at control. Then he moves. No, he doesn't just move… he lunges, he thrusts, deeper and harder every time he pulls back. He leans over me, every so often dipping down to grab my mouth with his in a rough, haphazard kiss, his hands holding my hips, fingers digging hard into flesh. He fucks me with wild reckless abandon. No conscious thought, no reason to his method, the only rhythm the rhythm of his lust, his body jerking to the beat of his frantic heart, to the pounding of the pulse that rushes through my body and into his. I lose all control as my desperate shouts and cries fill the air.

"Fuck!"

"Shit, Sy!"

"Ah baby!"

"God, you feel… so…. fucking…amazing! "

"Aaah!"

I scream out as he repeatedly smacks against me, relentlessly hitting that spot deep inside, sending shock wave after shock wave of excruciating ecstasy rattling through me. My head is reeling, thrown back on the table, my back arched and taut, I'm completely fucked, my body shaking, my cock…

Oh fuck! I ache like I have never ached before. I'm so impossibly hard I can barely stand it. I feel myself involuntarily ricochet upwards, my hips battling against Syed's hands, I'm begging to be touched, utterly at his will.

My movement seems to register on the person causing it. He looks at me, but doesn't alter his unforgiving pace, the sight of him tells me he couldn't stop now even if he wanted to. Which he clearly doesn't.

My God, is he a sight to behold. His sweat making his already golden skin glisten and gleam, emphasising the contour of the strong but lithe muscles in his shoulders and arms. A red flush spreads from his labouring chest and onto his neck and face. His soft and swollen lips are parted to allow the quick in and out take of ragged breath, and does nothing to muffle the spontaneous gasps, grunts and moans that spill out. His dark hair curls and clings to his forehead in damp clumps, but it is his eyes I am drawn to most, as they lock resolutely on mine.

I stare fixated into his eyes that are somehow decadently dark, yet at the same time shine as bright as anything I have ever seen. My whole body screams out for mercy, for glorious and earth shattering release as I feel myself pushed to the brink of reality. Everything else washes away, feels like a dream, there is only him, and me, but he _is_ the dream, and I am part of him, and I am falling, falling deep into those eyes. But at the same time I am flying, soaring, my head swims, I see stars behind my eyes, they are the stars that shine in his. I've lost all meaning, except us, all rational thought, except of him, all supposed sanity, and I feel truly alive and more real than I have ever felt. And that feeling is love, I feel real love, total, absolute, unconditional love. I love him. And that love, my love for him, and his love for me is everything. Everything.

My body is still crying out for friction, for contact, but it appears it is not even necessary, as I feel that powerful sensation building and growing from deep within. The only other contact I really need is with his eyes, and I am there, with him, and he is with me. I feel my orgasm rising and expanding inside me, pushing into every fibre of my being and threatening to blow it apart, blow me apart until there is only him. As it takes hold of me, is so near crescendo that there is no going back, my hand instinctively reaches for myself. But he is there first.

As his fingers grip around me, I literally scream out loud, one pump from his hand and I am thrown open. My body thrusting uncontrollably into his hand as I release with a continual force that sends me into a mindless state of perpetual bliss. Through the white noise of my own euphoria I hear him cry my name, feel him push deep inside me and stay there as his own body and mind find their point of liberty and release, then there are spasms of movement again as he drives the last of himself into me, he is free.

He slumps down over me, licking salaciously at the sticky evidence of our love making, whilst trailing sensuous kisses over my stomach and chest. I cling on to him, my arms encircling his back, my breathing still coming in shallow gasps. I feel like I'm in a dream and I never want to wake up. I never want to let him go.

Then, as the physical onslaught of sensation subsides, my mind is thrown back to reality, a reality as clear and acute as I have ever seen. It is real, he is real and he is here with me. I want to always be with him, to always have this connection that supersedes anything else, and I don't just mean sexual, or even physical. For that is just a manifestation, a consequence, a celebration, a consolidation of what lies within, in my heart and in my soul, in the very part of me that makes me who I am.

I suddenly feel unwanted tears well up in my eyes, I don't know why, I don't. I feel foolish, I feel suddenly small. I feel out of control. He seems to sense something wrong, before I can even contemplate myself what is the matter with me. He looks up at me while gentle fingers stroke and soothe, looks at me with tender concern and… love, "Christian? Are you ok?"

And I am overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by the presence of him, with me. He is everything. And it would appear as if by default, that if he is everything, then without him I am nothing, I would _have_ nothing. Except that which was before, before him, which basically amounts to the same thing again, nothing. Nothing and… no-one. An endless stream of nameless masks of faces and interchangeable bodies stretch far behind me. The immediate indulgent sensation of touch and heat but without lasting feeling or meaning. A hollow emptiness that craved to be filled, an unfulfilled but relentless want, wanting to be needed, needing to be wanted, but at the end of it, nothing. Having nothing, wanting nothing. Because nothing then was easy… _easier_. I had nothing to lose. Until him.

And suddenly it is there. The knot that grips and binds and twists inside me. That clouds my mind and shadows my heart. Fear. That destructive darkness that hides something in it's folds, keeps it hidden and protected at the same time. And the dark it breeds the acrimony within me. It dries my eyes and sets my brow into a frown.

I push myself up, reaching a sitting position and swinging my legs around the side of the table. I turn away from him. The tightness spreads across my chest and it becomes more difficult to breath. Not the feel of desperate need to breath him in when he is pressed against me, or the gulping need for sustenance when he is not, but the closed, restricted lack of oxygen when you don't want to breath, when breathing itself hurts, when you want it to hurt, because being you hurts and you deserve it.

"Christian?"

I can hear the confusion in his voice, as he moves round the table before hoisting himself up sitting down beside me. His shoulder nudges against me. He his reaching out to me I know, his tone of voice and the way he sidles up against me, I can read him, I can, he needs clarity, he needs reassurance, he needs a continued closeness and intimacy from the intense experience we'd just shared, he needs _me_ to share.

"What's the matter? I don't… understand… From _my_ end that was pretty amazing. _Very_ amazing actually." He laughs softly, almost flirty, but there is a waver to his voice, a nervous worry.

"It was Sy, it was bloody fucking amazing, _you_ are amazing, you always are." I feel myself relax into him, I bend down and place a lingering kiss on his lips, other thoughts momentarily diminish.

He smiles at me, "_We _are. Are you sure you're ok?" His hand slides up my back, caressing the curve of my muscles before resting at the base of my neck. He looks at me intently, he's not convinced.

Suddenly neither am I. I feel strangely vulnerable, sitting here, stark naked. That thought in itself is preposterous, my body is my strength, I had made it so, exposing it had never bothered me before. And as to Syed, I have never felt more in tune with anyone, on any level. But maybe it isn't my body I am worried about being exposed.

"I'm fine, really." I snap without thinking, and instantly regret my tone. I stand up abruptly, reaching for my underwear and jeans laying strewn on the floor. A distraction. Like all the cheap distractions in the form of warm bodies that had gone before, before him. But he gets up and moves in front of me.

Now he is standing before me, completely open, completely himself, oh and that little extra thing being that he is completely naked, and I can't hide. He is before me, and there is no distraction in this world that can distract me from him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you again to everyone reviewing and extra special thanks to my talented beta and fic writer/pm master/reviewer extraordinaire ClarkeyFanGirl! Ok I'll stop now or I'll make her blush... :)**

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><p>"Christian, you're rushing off." He is still worried, but I can sense a growing frustration and something else, hurt.<p>

I've hurt him. I hate myself for hurting him. But I have to get some sort of control back. I need to be strong. I need to protect _us_, I tell myself. Of course that means protecting me, as a part of that 'us.' Yet somehow in the act of protecting myself, of controlling that fear, I distance him. It does not make sense I know and I won't… I can't think about it clearly. As my heart is filled with love of him I attempt to encase it, to shield it, and in the process it is cut off, cut off from the very thing it needs to live, the very love I am desperate to hold on to, trying to protect. Instantly I feel the coldness of the stony wall, feel it hard and uncompromising, reflecting and rebounding.

"I thought you'd want to get out of here quickly." I fire back at him.

"We don't have to?" He tries again. "I still owe you a massage remember?"

I look up as his softness, gentle but strong at the same time, threatens to seep through the cracks of my defence. He looks gorgeous. Stunning. A post coital vision of masculinity and sensuality, but it is more than that. He has something that runs deep under the surface, there is a beauty within him, a youthful strength and vitality, a conviction, a courage, a loyalty, a deep rooted kindness and thoughtfulness that sometimes appears fragile but is in fact solid and unwavering. He doesn't see it, but he has so much beauty inside him, and I feel the ugly knot that twists in me and I feel somehow less, so much less. He could have so much. He could be anything, do anything, have anything. He could have anyone. Any red-blooded man in their right mind would want him.

"You don't owe me anything." I say abruptly. Just sometimes I felt like he thought he did owe me, for being who and where he is today, but of course it's all rubbish, he was always the person he is, just hidden and held inside, all I did was give him a little help to see it, not all of it necessarily good, but I did it because I love him. But he doesn't need my help anymore. He doesn't need me anymore.

I pull up my underwear and jeans. I feel the dense fog begin to seep back into my brain, and I let it, I encourage it, I welcome it even. I don't know what I'm doing, but I can't seem to help it. "Besides, I'm sure you've worked your particular expertise on enough people today." I mutter gruffly, avoiding his gaze as I brusquely deal with buttons and zips.

"What?" He asks dubiously. I avoid him and look around for my t-shirt, jerking it unceremoniously over my torso.

"Christian! What the hell is the matter with you?" his voice rises with frustration and the need for me to look at him, to talk to him.

So I do, his anger giving me what I need to hit against. He looks confused, the refined features of his face tense with irritation and exasperation. I feel my defensive army charge forth without warning, I hardly know what I'm saying as the words shoot out, firing directly at him, "Your little bit of late night over time! Enjoy it did you? I bet he did, I'm sure you went down very well!"

His eyes widen, and he is momentarily speechless, so I continue my heedless ambush unabated "Oh come on Sy, don't give me that look, Craig's only after one thing, he always is, I saw the way he looked at you the other day, he so wanted to fuck you, and it seems you were only too eager to comply, while I'm sat at home like a fucking idiot!"

Shit. What am I saying? I don't know who I am anymore, I don't know what I'm doing. I can't do this. I can't handle this.

"You bastard." His voice is thick, but quiet, his body eerily still, fists clenched at his sides. Oh God, what am I doing? I'm hurting him. He's right I am a bastard. Somehow, I don't know why but the fact that he said it is strangely appeasing. Some part of me actually seems to welcome the recognition, feeds on it.

"Yeah well, If that's what you think, maybe you should go back to Craig, I'm sure he's marginally less of a bastard." I push him some more, push him away from me. I hurt him some more… and hate myself some more in the process.

"How can you think that I would do that, _could_ do that?" He yells, making a grab for his own clothes, like he now also feels the need to shield himself… from me, the idea stabs at my heart. He quickly gets dressed, pensive in his task, before looking directly at me. "Do you know me at all? Do you value _us_ at all? You don't really believe that I could…?"

His voice breaks and trails off, he's upset, angry, hurt, everything I expected him to be. I subject myself to the complete torture of looking at the anguish etched on his face, the pained indignation in his eyes, until I can bare it no more. I can bare the painful twist inside of me no more and I look away from him. My eyes dart to the floor… shoes, _where are my fucking shoes_? I find them and pull them on, tugging sharply at the laces, before standing up and looking around for another piece of clothing, looking anywhere but him, but there is nothing left to put on.

"Christian!" he exclaims furiously, "Look at me! This is _me_!" I know what he is trying to do, I know what he wants, what he needs. I refuse to look, I refuse to give it to him, I refuse to give it to myself. But through his anger and hurt, through the fog in my head and knot in my stomach I can still feel it. I can feel the connection, _our_ connection, desperately, frantically, trying to get through, to reach across the chasm that has opened up between us, no… the chasm that _I_ have created. I'm scared. I'm so scared. I'm scared because I need it so much, but do I deserve it? And what will happen when it's not there? When it's gone? When _he's_ gone…

He fills my silence. "Is this what this is about? Jealousy?" His tone is quieter but no less emotive. I don't answer.

"Christian! How do you think it makes _me_ feel?" He sighs, a frown troubling his brow "Do you have no trust in me? No faith in my values? No belief in me as a person… in my love for you?" The raw plaintiveness of the question stings my ears and scratches inside my skull.

I look at him, how can I not? His eyes are huge, dark pools of sadness, glistening with tears that refuse to fall, pleading at me with a fearful intensity. He is so beautiful I can't breath. I love him so much and I am hurting him just the same. Oh God. _Jesus Christ, Christian_. Am I really going to do this? Am I that terrible and undeserving a person? Am I going to try and destroy the most precious thing I have, that I ever will have? It is so wrong. The irony of his words tear at the very fibres of my being. It's not him I don't trust, it's not him I don't value, It's not him I don't believe in. It's not him that is not worthy of love, that should and has always had love taken away from him. That has never been able to stick at anything, never been able to get too close, for fear of losing, losing it all. And I need it. I need it so much. Love. I need him. I need his love, I need to love him. I have so much love, I could be so much, give so much. If I could just…

I sense his gaze move away from me, without even seeing. I want it back. I want him, but I don't deserve him. I feel frozen, the cold grip of fear like a vice around me, I want to reach out, feel his warmth, let his love warm my heart and hold it in a tight embrace and never let go. Never, ever let go. I steal a glance in his direction. He is turned slightly towards the table behind us, looking down in tense silence, he places a hand on it as if to steady himself.

"We just…" he falters, "We made love. I thought… I mean, I felt…" He turns back to me sharply, "What was that? Was it you staking your ownership? Some sort of retaliation? To twist the knife in further now? To humiliate me?" He's shaking, the acute distress in his voice cutting through the heavy air and slicing me open. Shit. No. He can't doubt that. I can't let him doubt that. I can't let him think that it wasn't what it was.

"Sy, no…" I'm shaking my head. My throat feels tight, there's a stinging behind my eyes and a pounding in my head. I look at him, look deep into those eyes that I have looked into longer and harder than anyone's in my life. I see him, I see all of him, and I see what I'm doing to him. I'm a fucking selfish bastard. Worse than that I'm a coward, a gutless coward who would see the one person he loves more than anything suffer rather than admit it. Would rather inflict pain on the one person who loved him like no other than deal with his own pain.

I struggle to grab onto words that could somehow explain, that could absolve and make everything alright, but they dart and dash through the fog in my mind, evading capture and the clarity and painfulness of truth their reveal may bring. I sigh and shake my head again, all the while his sight of me unrelenting and rendering me ever more abashed and ashamed. Suddenly I just want to get away from here. To find a place of safety and comfort. I want to go back home.

Home. The four walls of my flat. Yes, there is safety and familiarity within those walls, a place that I created, where I am in control. Determinedly I turn away and head out of the therapy room.

Thoughts stab at my insides, as I refuse to turn back, refuse to see those eyes, but I see them nevertheless, the memory and intense knowledge of them forever a part of me. I could never not see them. I'm at the top of the stairs and I feel his presence behind me, but I can't stop now. I'm going.

Home. _Our_ home.

I pause for a split second, the muttered words call out, my voice ending in an undesired but not unmistakable quiver, "I'm going… home." I stride down the stairs, injecting a purpose I do not feel, covering a panic I do not want to feel, the silent echo of a question reverberating around me. _Are you coming?_

Home. Where is home? Warmth of arms around me. The only place I want to be, need to be. The only place that means something, that means everything.

I'm at the salon door, making the obstacle to my escape shake in it's frame as I pull roughly and forcibly on the handle, as if the very action will override the obvious fact that it is locked. I feel him behind me. _I can't fucking breathe_.

"Where are the keys?" I say gruffly.

He doesn't answer. I give a final frustrated yank on the handle before spinning round to face him.

"Open the door!" I yell.

He stares back at me, his face striking in it's stubborn defiance, dark eyes pierced with the hurt of every painful word I'd thrown at him, clouded with the heavy silence of every question I hadn't answered. Every emotion seeming only to enhance the wonder of his beauty and pull and drag at my insides until there is no fibre of my being left that can withstand the ache.

"I said open the fucking door Sy!" I cry out, hearing the desperation and sheer panic in my voice.

"Or what? Are you going to break it down?" He states boldly, "You're not going anywhere! You can't say the things you said and just leave like nothing has happened! How dare you treat me like this!" He takes a sharp intake of breath, "I'm not opening that door until you talk to me Christian… we'll stay here all night if we have to!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you for all the reviews they are very much appreciated and thanks once again to my beta Clarkey :)**

**...and apologies to her and everyone else that I STILL haven't got to the massage bit, but next chapter I promise ;)**

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><p>"I'm not opening that door until you talk to me Christian… we'll stay here all night if we have to!"<p>

I feel trapped. Caught between the locked door and the intense stare and reproval of my lover… my love, the very heart of me. There's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. I feel every muscle in my body tense and tingle with a defensive alertness that travels to the far reaches of my being. I'm vaguely aware my hands are trembling, and run my fingers absent-mindedly through my hair , letting out a heavy sigh, eyes cast downwards and away, away from him.

"Fine." I say curtly and find myself moving away, needing space, needing to breath. I see a nearby chair and plonk myself down, my legs splayed apart in the imitation of assured relaxation, but in truth I'm glad to be grounded as they feel as if they could barely hold the weight of me pressing down. I lean back slightly and fold my arms tightly across my chest. Feeling steadied I dare to look up, my jaw set stiffly, my eyes challenging him as they lock onto his face. "You're in for a long night." I say contentiously.

There is a faint glimmer of something in his eyes, momentarily breaking through the umbrage, and I disallow myself any detailed deliberation of the sort of long nights he… _we_ are accustomed to.

He walks towards me, but then hesitates and halts, leaving a safe but noticeable void of distance between us. "Christian! Will you just…" He stares at me and makes a sharp sigh of exasperation, before looking away, struggling to find the words, but I feel the push and pull within him as he continues to try. His shoulders sag and he turns back towards me. "Do you really think I wanted Craig?" he asks, in a much calmer, resigned voice.

"I don't know, you tell me!" I spark back quickly. But the flare dies almost instantly and I pause, lost in the soft sadness of his eyes. "Of course not." I mutter quietly, eyes dropping. I sink lower into my chair, wishing my foolishness would disappear with me into the floor.

He takes a step closer, a hand twitching and elevating as if involuntarily, before dropping back to his side. I suddenly feel his steely gaze upon me, "Do you trust me?" he asks, his voice solemn and weighted with the anticipation and fear of the response.

The question makes my stomach churn and I feel it hanging in the air around me, goading me for an answer but suffocating and threatening to silence me at the same time. He wants an answer, but I can't give him one. I panic, blurting out plaintive words that my mind has no time to regulate, "I… I don't know, are you going to leave me?"

Soon as the pitiful words slip out I wish I could take them back, draw them back into me and hold them tight to my chest. I sit up, forcing a feigned show of strength using my body, my eyes flit to his, trying to capture the truth as I see it and repel it at the same time.

He looks taken aback and more than a bit confused. His eyes widen slightly, as if to bare even more of all that he is before me. "Why would I leave you?" His whispered words quiver under his breath. I don't answer. "I gave up everything to be with you, because you matter to me more than anything. I can't imagine not being with you…" he pauses, "No, that's wrong, I _can_ imagine, I _know _what it would be like, I don't want to be anywhere else, I want to be here, I _belong_ here… with you."

His voice catches and he looks at me warily, fearfully searching my face with a desperate need that I wish I could fulfil, that I could, if I could just… But I pause too long and before I have time to think I catch the look of pained rejection that befalls his beautiful features, and he looks quickly away, uttering the words that make my heart bleed. "At least… I thought I did…"

I look at him sharply, his small pleading voice suddenly magnifying the worst of my fears until the mountain is looming before me and there is no getting round it. He's waiting for my response, my heart aches and cries out at his need for reassurance as clear as day, but it is crushed beneath the avalanche around me. "Right" I state thickly, "You do have other choices now Sy. Don't feel you have to stay out of some misplaced…"

"What?" He interrupts, his voice rising with hurt and agitation, "What are you saying Christian? Did you not hear a word of what I just said? I… I don't get you… Do you want me to leave?"

I look at him and feel my heart leap into my throat, choking me, I feel like a dying man as my last strangled cries escape. "If you're going to leave, yes! I'd rather you do it now!" I jump from my chair, sending it scraping along the floor and as my suddenly wild eyes do battle with his, all I want to do is grab hold of him.

He breathes in sharply and I see tears fill his eyes, making the depths of their darkness and pain shine in protest, demanding to be seen. "Stop!" he yells, "Stop pushing me away! I'm trying to hold on to you Christian, and the more I try, the more you push me away, it's not me who's leaving, it's not me who's doing this Christian, it's you, please… don't do this…why are you doing this? I know you love me, I know you want me, I _know _you do."

Suddenly it feels as if every emotion I've ever felt is bursting through me and I can't hold it back, I can't stop it and I feel like I'm drowning, I feel it bringing tears to my eyes, rushing through my veins, making my body shake and tremble. I can't stop it and I can't stop myself as I reach up and grab both his shoulders, my fingers digging in so tight I must surely be hurting him. I can't speak, I can barely breath. "I do" The words choke out of me, barely recognisable, "It's just… I can't…" I shake my head, "I can't do this."

His face is inches from mine, I feel the warmth of his skin, and the solidness of his flesh under my hands, I feel the presence of his body next to mine almost as if it were against me.

"What Christian?" he breathes gently, his eyes beseeching me, I feel like I'm melting into him, my grip relaxing, my muscles sagging. When I don't answer he repeats his earlier question "Do you trust me?"

I'm captured by his eyes "Yes." I sigh, my head dropping, falling onto his shoulder.

"Then trust me." he says sincerely. I feel his tentative hands at my waist, as I bury my face further into his neck. "Talk to me Christian, please." he whispers against my ear.

It's like I can feel myself crumbling, I've fought so hard I've got nothing left to fight with. But it's still there, the fear, and I can't let go of it. He reaches for my hands and brings them between us, fingers tightly entwined, and as I raise my head he presses his forehead to mine, our bodies and minds joined and locked together, as we stand quiet and still except for the rise and fall of our breathing.

He moves away slightly, pulling me with him as he drops down, resignedly sitting on the cool tiled floor and leaning his back against the silver sheen of the counter. I sit down next to him, still holding his hand, the heat from his shoulder transferring to mine as it presses up against me. This is it. This is where I should talk, explain to him, make him see. But I don't know where to start, I'm scared of what will happen. He's waiting, waiting patiently for me to open up, to speak to him, I need to say something. So I say the clearest, most absolute thing in my head. The only thing that makes sense. It is the beginning, the end, everything.

"I love you." The three little words that on the surface never seem to convey enough, spoken lightly and frequently by some, but between us, to him, mean so much more, evoke so much more. But I know he feels the vast and unfathomable depth beneath the words as I do, I can _feel_ he does, I can't explain it, but I can feel him.

"I know." he sighs. "And you held us together for so long, you were so… clear, so sure, even when I did everything I could to push you away, you were so resolute about us, but now…"

"Oh Sy, I still feel the same, I do, I'm just… scared." I steal a nervous glance at him and his steady gaze calms me and draws me in. "Sometimes I just can't believe it, that I've got you. You mean so much to me, being with you means so much to me, it's all I ever wanted, all I ever need…"

"Then why Christian…" There is a seriousness in his eyes as he pauses, "…why are you so intent on destroying it?" he speaks softly and without malice or accusation, just a bittersweet sadness.

"I…I don't…" I stumble and shake my head, before looking at him earnestly, "You're so strong, Sy. Your heart… it's so strong."

"I wouldn't say that." he responds apprehensively.

"I know you don't think it Sy, but you are. There's something in your heart that is good, and kind and gentle, so loving and forgiving, so needing to be loved and accepted, to do what's right, and I know you sometimes think it makes you weak, but it doesn't, it makes you strong, so strong." I take a deep breath and squeeze his hand tighter.

"And I know that sometimes I… sometimes I have attacked you for no other reason than you being yourself, and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Sy. Sorry that my own doubt, this _thing_ in me… my own failings, my own shit of a self would ever turn it around on you, and do it knowingly, intentionally, knowing it would hurt you, because I'm too fucking scared to... to look at myself. "

He brings my hand tentatively up to his mouth and presses his lips into my skin, I feel the familiar and treasured sensation of his warm breath and sensitive skin against me, and the small intimate gesture makes me hate even more that I have created a barrier between us.

"I don't deserve you." I say bleakly.

"Why would you ever think that?" he looks sideways at me.

"I don't know, no one has ever wanted me before, not all of me, not for any length of time anyway… " I chuckle nervously, trying to make light of the hurt, "I drove them all round the bend in the end… even my own family." I sheepishly try and gauge his reaction, but he's just gazing unblinkingly at me, my words fall heavily from my lips. "Everyone leaves in the end."

"Not everyone." he rasps, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not if you let them stay, not if you let them in, not if you let them… touch you, be with you, love you, like they want to… like they need to." I can hear the emotion in his voice, see it in his eyes, and I feel it tugging at my heart, like it's trying to pull me apart from the inside out. I feel frightened but I can't hide it, and I can tell by the way he's looking at me that my fear is all to obvious in my eyes. Suddenly his hand is against my cheek, his palm resting against my skin and I close my eyes desperately trying to hold myself together.

"You mean so much to me Sy." I breathe, "You've given me so much, our life together, I don't want to lose it, I don't want to lose you, I can't lose you…not now, nothing would ever come close, nothing. You…" I open my eyes and look at him as my voice breaks, and the tears form with my words, "I love you with every part of me, I need you like I've never needed anyone and it scares me to hell and back.

You give me your love and it's the most exquisite and precious thing I've ever had, I'm terrified of having it taken away from me, of doing something to mess it up, so I do, I fucking do."

As the words stop tumbling out a strange noise escapes my throat. Something has been let out and I can't get it back in, I can't control it anymore, it's not mine to control. My vision is blurred, but he is there, he is there and I feel his arms around me and I'm not falling, the door is open but I'm still here, and _he is here_. My throat burns as the sobs rise from my chest, but I can still breath, I can breathe him in. Always, always him. Syed. Sy. My Sy. _Please, don't ever leave me_.

"Shhhhh, Christian…" fingers circle and comfort aching flesh, caress their way over scalp and fearful thoughts.

My body calms against his. My mind pleads. _Don't leave me. Don't let me push you away. Don't let me screw this up. _

"Christian…" he urges, his voice thick and low, "It doesn't make you weak."

His words permeate into me and I look up into soft moist eyes, "What?" I say hoarsely, almost inaudibly.

"What we have, it doesn't make you weak, it makes _us_ strong. You taught me that."

"I did?" I say, almost smiling.

His lips echo mine and build into a gentle smile "Yeah," he says, "You did. As long as we're honest with each other… and with ourselves."

I can't help but return his smile, "So I'm not always a total idiot then?"

"No, not always." he grins, but it soon falters and he looks serious again. "We've been blessed Christian." he looks at me intently, "We found each other and something so… amazing, and strong, and… yes, " he smiles again, "sometimes rather consuming. But we have to give credence to that, have faith in it, because it deserves it, it really does. If we believe in it, if we let it, love will always prevail, I'm sure of it. We're here aren't we?"

I nod slowly, thoughtfully. He's right of course. This thing we have, the most important thing in the world to me, I've been so scared of losing it, I've done it a disservice. I put so much credit in it, yet at the same time almost dismissed it as being impossible to quantify or sustain. I've done _him_ a disservice… and myself. I sigh and slump forward slightly, hands draped over raised knees, the tiled floor suddenly feeling hard and uncompromising beneath me.

He is worth so much more, and somewhere deep inside I know I am too. I don't need him to say it. I don't need him to tell me he's not going to leave me, I don't need to hear that he's with me because he wants to be, that he's not going anywhere. Because I _know. _I've always known. I just have to let myself believe it. I feel it through the passing of every day, through deep conversation and light hearted play, through hushed moans and urgent cries, through shared hurt and wishful dreams, through the ordinary and the extreme, through the spark and heat of the touch of our skin, body and thought and need and hearts combined.

As if on cue, I feel his hands on my shoulders, gently soothing and pressing into tired flesh. "You just need to trust in it, in us… trust _me. _Believe in yourself… like I do." His fingers began kneading tirelessly into my tense muscle, his voice soft and hypnotic like a melodious lullaby. "Just relax, it's going to be ok." he presses a tiny kiss into my temple, as his palms spread across my shoulders. "You're very tense," he muses, "Let me help you…"

"You already have" I breath assuredly my head leaning gently into his.

"Likewise." he responds. I hear the soft smile and history of meaning in his voice, and I close my eyes and relish in the presence of him, in the history, present and future of us.

"I could still give you that massage?" he asks, "I'd like to."

I turn to look at him, so close I can feel his breath on my face, his eyes bright and open to me. How could I doubt, how could I ever doubt what I see before me? I smile and he silently takes my hand, pulling me to my feet and leading me back towards the stairs.


	6. Chapter 6

**Well, here it is at long last, the final chapter, hope it's not a let down after such a long wait! **

**Thank you to everyone has taken the time to read this, and for the reviews :)**

**Special thanks to the lovely Clarkie for being my beta xx**

* * *

><p>I'm lying face down, one crisp cotton sheet under me and another draped modestly over my naked skin. My face is cushioned in the specially designed head rest, giving me an uninterrupted view of the floor, but unfortunately not much else. My eyes follow shadows as they dance across the tiles, bathed in the subtle amber glow of candlelight. Syed was reluctant to put on the overhead lamp, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that someone was up here in his little massage room, clandestinely, in the middle of the night.<p>

I hear the familiar sounds his body makes as he moves, a unique imprint on my senses that I know instinctively of him. There are other noises too, bottles being opened, substances being shook.

I shift a little, wriggle a little more into the soft padding holding me, my mind impatient at having to wait, my body craving for attention, fuelled by a tingling and restlessness in my groin.

For a fleeting moment my mind wandersreprehensively. The thought that I'm not the only one to have lain here, in a state of undress, waiting for the touch of my masseur. Not the only one to have experienced the intimate touch of his hands across my skin. I curse myself and the guilt of my indiscretion floods my mind as I try to stab it away. Even after everything that had happened today, my unravelling, the worst of me laid open for his eyes and then somehow helped back together again in a way that made sense, that made it ok, that made me ok. Even now I realise that the process continues, will continue over time, but time is all it will take, for I have him, and his love and I trust and believe in both to be true.

As if sensing my restiveness, Syed begins to talk. His voice is my Syed, at home, limbs draped over limbs as we cuddle on the sofa, or whispered under sheets as we lie together in our bed, his tones soft and languid. But the unfamiliar words and phrases he uses belong to another Syed, one that I am not always privy too, but the one that resides in this room. His words wash over me as he speaks of knowledge of bodies, of muscle groups and systems… limbic… nervous… lymphatic. His discernment and proficiency something to be revelled and held in detached awe. I am timely reminded of the difference, the everyday difference in him here, what others see and what they don't see: that part of him which is mine and mine alone, _my_ masseur.

It is my awareness and understanding of _his_ body and the way it reacts with mine that fills my thoughts as I hear and sense him move towards me, my body responding on cue at the anticipation of his touch. He has massaged me before of course, for pleasure aswell as practise, but always behind the walls of our home, often amongst the ruffle of our sheets and scattered array of pillows. Never here, in this world that is his, where he presents himself with calm and efficient demeanor, where he is in control, but courteous, superior in his knowledge and expertise but wanting to help, to relieve the aches and stresses of those in need.

Yes, this is altogether different I muse, becoming more acutely aware than ever of my nakedness as I lay in anticipation of his administrations. And him, fully clothed, even the white jacket has returned to protect his clothes and complete his guise. Sy, my lover, but also Syed, massage therapist. He stands over me and his thigh rubs against the sheet that is covering my lower half, it ripples and pulls over my flesh, tickling and sending shivers over my increasingly sensitive skin. I twitch involuntarily and feel a flush of heat and surge of sensation travel down my body.

My nostrils flare as a heady scent suddenly surrounds us. "What's that?" I ask, giving a slight cough to dislodge the rough croak and restore the casualness to my voice.

"It's Ylang Ylang, Sandalwood and Chamomile." he replies confidently.

Before I can respond his hands are on my back, sliding and smoothing warm oil over my bare skin. I draw a sharp breath at the contact.

"Relax." he whispers into the air behind my ear, as his delicate but strong fingers work their magic into my muscles. His firm hands push and glide long strokes across my back, always following the direction of my blood as it rushes to my heart. I feel it's beat slow and strengthen as it opens and swells with the knowledge and presence and love of him. The tension and agitation in my body dispersing at the feel of his healing touch and with the certitude that I will always have the feel of his body as it connects with mine.

My breathing deepens and elongates, each inhale easier than the last. I exhale to the rhythm of the slow movement of his hands as they knead and glide across my shoulders. I close my eyes as he grips my left wrist and strokes up and around my arm, lingering around the contours of my bicep, seeming to languish in the feel of taut hard muscle, before repeating the same movements on my right arm, showing a similar relish and reluctance to hurry or move elsewhere.

"Hmmmm…" I sigh leisurely. "You're good at this."

"I would hope so, it is my job." he says, his voice low, but I catch a faint teasing lilt of amusement.

"You're very professional." I say huskily, " …a little too professional."

He chuckles softly but then goes quiet for a while, his heedful silence dropping over me as his hands travel back to my shoulders, lighter and more cautionary than before. I begin to wonder what he's thinking.

"Christian…" he says tentatively, as his movements still, "…was it me?"

I hear the uncertainty and worry in his voice and it is enough to make me push myself up and turn to face him. "Was what you?"

His arms fall to his sides as he presses his lips together and looks back at me, searching my face for a moment before answering.

"I hurt you." he says sadly and I can see the guilt shadowing his eyes.

I roll sideways, propping myself up on an elbow, before looking at him confused. "What do you mean?"

"Before we were together properly… I was so lost, I didn't know what to do, I said and did some terrible things… to you, and I can't take them back. I hurt you so much… I left you in pieces again and again." he takes a ragged breath and I can see the pain and regret etched in his face as he frowns.

"Sy please," I implore with a sigh.

"No… I did it Christian, the memories are still there, I know things have moved on, but the scars…"

I give a little shake of my head and run a hand down the soft skin of his arm, clasping his hand in mine.

He looks at me earnestly, "I'm not going to leave you again, things are different now."

"I know." I say with complete sincerity. "We both said and did things we didn't mean, made mistakes, hurt and got hurt. But we did what we could, what we had to do at the time, to get through. None of that matters now."

His lips curve into a little smile but his eyes aren't convinced.

"We're together. Things _are _completely different now. I've got what I always wanted. Yes, we had to fight to get it, but it was worth fighting for, and I'd go through it all again in the blink of an eye for this." I pull him down to me and our lips press together and linger in the lightest and most loving of caresses.

I look up at him and once again marvel at how brightly he shines, how clear and lucid the light in his eyes, the warmth in his smile, the quiet strength and openness in the way he moves. He stands before me like an epiphany of his real self and I bask in his glow. He has travelled so far, the shadows chased to the far corners of our existence. Sometimes it feels like he has come so far he has somehow overtaken me and it will take me a little bit longer to get to the finish line, but get there I will, with him by my side.

"I'm an idiot sometimes Sy, if you see me slipping again, just remind me ok? In whichever way you deem appropriate." I flash a grin at him.

"Like this?" he lands a playful punch on my shoulder.

"Hey!" I proclaim in mock indignation, rubbing the offended area. "I hope you don't go around hitting all your clients like that."

"Only the ones I love." his eyes lock onto mine and once again I feel it, feel him as if he were inside me, and I inside him.

"Lay back down. I haven't finished with you yet." He commands gently, and my smile lingers as I roll back over, positioning myself once more for his touch.

His hands find my waist, delicately tracing up and down my sides before hooking his thumb under the sheet and edging it down over my thighs, before completely removing it. I shiver slightly at the feel of air and anticipation of him against my naked skin, the thought and sensation sending impulses straight to my groin. I'm aware of a subtle change in the charge of current that travels through him and into me, it electrifies the air around us. Somewhere along the way, Syed the Masseur took a step back, and the hands that I suddenly feel, tracing oil up the length of my calf, wrapping fingers round the width of my thigh belong to Sy, my Sy.

Unwittingly I let out a heavy sigh as he moves his appreciation to my other leg, his hands rising higher and higher until he is caressing the delicate skin on the inside of my thigh just under my scrotum. I feel a flush of warmth spread through me, my body responding to his touch in the way it always does, wanting more, needing more.

His hands hear my call as they slick scented oil over the smooth curve of my arse, shaping and moulding as they move, kneading subtle shocks of desire into mounds of flesh and muscle. I groan out loud, an instinctive, uncontrollable reaction to the fire his fingertips ignite in my veins. He grips my arse and I sense his body over me as he leans down to whisper in a low voice against my ear.

"Turn over."

I comply eagerly, releasing the uncomfortable pressure against my ever increasing hardness and displaying my desire before his eyes.

I lay my head back and gaze up at him mischievously, "Oops" I grin, looking from my groin to his raised eyebrows. "Is that supposed to happen?"

His head tilts and long lashes sweep his eyes as they dance darkly with mine. "Don't worry, it's a perfectly normal and natural response." he purrs.

"It is?" I goad, my voice heavy.

He gives a little nod. I see the edge of teeth biting into tender lip, and I have the sudden urge to suck that lip between my own.

His tongue recites a routine phrase, while his belying lids grow lasciviously heavy and his breath catches, "Yep, gentle touch administered to the any part of the body can activate the parasympathetic nervous system and…"

"So, that's what it is then…" I smirk.

"As massage therapists we understand and ignore it."

Wait.

What? I lift my head, suddenly alert, "You're going to ignore it?" I question indignantly, my eyes wide.

His eyes cloud with a familiar haze, narrowing with a barely concealed but somehow controlled blaze of passion and want. The muscles in his jaw tighten and then release as his plump lips slowly part into a luscious pout. My eyes wander longingly over the sight, and he watches them closely with intent. Just when I think I've got him, he turns away from me and reaches for the bottle behind him.

Turning back to me, he flashes the smallest but most torturous of teasing smiles, before pouring more of the aromatic oil over my chest. His fingers descend and slide into my skin, following known paths as they draw out patterns across my skin, his hands kneading in circles and moving in rounds to the contours of my pectoral muscles. I give in to the sensation and close my eyes with a contented sigh. Little murmurs are drawn from my lips as his continued touch sets my nerves alight and sends shoots of pleasure directly to my cock.

Familiar touch of fingertips meander and flick and pinch at sensitive nipples, they tangle and tug amongst clumps of coarse hair, made slick with the spread of scented oil. As soft vowel sounds flow from my mouth my hips sway and gently lift from the table, making my back arch and my toes curl. I hear the thud of my heart as it beats re-soundly, increasing in a rhythm I know so well, a rhythm matched and echoed by the one that I love. His hands are now sliding reactively across my skin, randomly sweeping across my chest, my shoulders, up and down my arms, sliding round my neck, method now lost and forgotten in the overriding pulse of need, of joy, of us.

I feel the blow of warm moist air against my stomach, the soft touch of lips against my trembling skin. I open my eyes and look down at the dark head of tousled hair, as a firm wet tongue licks lust leisurely around my navel.

"Sy…" I say heavily and my hands weave into his hair, holding him and pulling him up to meet me as my mouth desperately seeks his. My lips press upon his, my tongue seeking access and he melts at my request, opening himself wide for me. I kiss him slowly and deeply, my tongue laying silent words of love and want and need into every well-known and welcoming crevice of his mouth. I pull away only when my lungs demand, and trace my fingers over every beautiful curve and angle of his face, as I breathe in his air. I am once again overcome with the power of my feelings, my need, my love for him, but instead of breeding fear it brings assurance and appreciation, and utter elation.

I sit upright upon the cushioned table, my eyes holding his in a warm embrace as I gently and gradually remove his jacket and t-shirt, sliding into a sensual slow motion replay of earlier that night. He offers me the most sincerest of smiles and I take it with gratitude, sealing it with the lock of my mouth on his, sucking at his bottom lip and teasing his perfect teeth with my tongue. It isn't long before his own tongue seeks mine, until we are slipping and wrapping around each other, relishing in the delicious and consuming taste of us.

My hands seek their worship of his body, nothing more adored than the velvety feel of his skin, as my arms wrap around him and keep him safe. At my touch he leans into me and exhales a soft syllable into my mouth. I reach down, undoing his belt and jeans, and slide a hand in, feeling his need that I knew was waiting for me. I stroke his sighs into sweet moans of desire.

"Come up." I breathe gently, and he quickly removes the rest of his clothes and gracefully ascends on top of me, his thighs straddling my hips as I pull him into my lap, and wrap myself around him once more, holding him close.

"I love you" I breathe into his neck as I kiss and suck at his heated pulse, letting his body absorb the words and take them to it's very core.

"Christian…" he starts to plead as he gently rocks and sways, rubbing himself licentiously against my own throbbing need, his gasps joining the guttural sounds that escape from the back of my throat. The naked friction feeds my fever and sends my pulse fluttering into dizzying heights.

"Oil?" I manage to say through the desire filled daze in my head, as I push myself back against him.

"Mmmmm" is his reply as his hips rebound against me a final time, before he composes himself enough to look for the lubricant. I follow his gaze to the small table and collection of bottles next to us. He's obviously reluctant to part from me though and as he leans and stretches sideways to grab for a bottle, I instinctively grip and hold his waist to stop him from falling as he begins to slide off me. He laughs as I pull him back up, and I can only smile back at him in wonder and love and delight.

Then his hands are upon me, smoothing the slippery liquid over my aching hardness and I can't help the expletives that darken my tongue at the acute sensations of his touch. I let him smooth oil over my fingers before my arms pull him tighter against me, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat, binding our bodies, and joining our mouths as I give in to the never ending need to kiss him once more.

His thighs grip me tightly, his arms wrap around my shoulders and his hands hold my head, fingers nestling into my hair as we continue to kiss, nip, lick, suck with lips and teeth and tongue. Our kiss. Our unhurried, unhindered, everlasting kiss of love and need and want. My hands caress in lengths down his back curling under to cup and stroke his arse, before I slide a finger between his cheeks, following the line of his depths until I reach his perineum. He whimpers into my mouth as I perform a massage of my own, pressing into damp hot flesh, before tracing gently over the skin of his balls, making him writhe and moan with pleasure.

"Christian, please…"

My fingers travel back, back to what I know he wants, and I slowly push inside, past the tight ring and into his fleshy warmth. I work him, stretching, pushing, opening him up as we continue to kiss and he grinds himself against me.

"Need you… " he whimpers breathlessly when he can take it no more, and I slide my fingers out before forcibly pushing them back in for one final measure, hitting his prostrate in the process. He gasps, a shudder rocking through him as I move my hands to lift him up, whilst positioning myself at the same time. He reaches for me, holding me steady as he slowly guides himself down.

"Love you." he whispers as we move together. His breathing is laboured, but the words themselves seem to flow effortlessly from somewhere deep within him.

I will never tire of this feeling or not feel like it is the most amazing thing in the world. Every time it renews afresh. Sy and me. Together. In the most intimate, intense way two people can possibly be joined. But there is something else about him, about us, that makes this special and unique and glorious above and beyond anything or anyone that had gone before, that makes everything else pale in comparison. It is something magical and wonderful, something that exists at a base level, at the very core of us, an instinctual connection, a reactive chemistry, a resounding love. It is solid, it is unwavering, it is everything and it will always be there. And as the world around us dims and fades into nothingness, leaving only the light and stars and sensation of us, I know. This is now. This is real. This is forever. This is us.

_My arm drapes his shoulders, and his circles my waist as we scurry together down the stairs, sharing in secret smiles and looks and giggles. Clothes strewn haphazardly over our bodies, neck lines askew and missed buttons remaining undone in our haste to get home. We pull towards and brush against each other as we clamber our descent, not wanting to let go of the feeling of nearness, of happiness, of completeness. We reach the door to the salon and he pulls away slightly, reaching into his jeans pocket before producing a jangle of keys and holding them aloft, they reflect in the glow of his smile. My smile echoes back as he reaches forth and unlocks the door, opening it wide, letting the air inside. I nuzzle into his neck breathing in deeply the combination of new freshness and the familiar and wonderful scent of him. I look up, our eyes meet and hold the steady gaze into our hearts and souls._

"_Home?" I say, a commitment and promise to be fulfilled._

"_Home." he agrees, taking my promise and holding it with his own._

_We step through the door together, and he locks it behind him, before reaching up to place a light kiss on my lips, his eyes shining in the darkness, reflecting the lights that guide our way. I take his hand in mine and we walk together, leading each other home. Our home._


End file.
